Orlaya

Orlaya grandiflora is the flower that every florist secretly wishes grew more freely. Those flat, lacy umbels of white flowers — like a more refined, more architectural version of cow parsley — have become the darling of the natural flower movement, and with good reason. Each flower head is a wide, flat disc of tiny flowers surrounded by a ring of large, deeply notched outer petals that look like they've been cut from the finest white paper with tiny scissors.

The effect in a border is transformative. Thread orlaya through roses and peonies and it ties everything together with that airy, transparent quality that makes a planting look both wild and designed simultaneously. It's the connective tissue of the summer garden — the thing that fills the spaces between other plants and makes the whole composition sing.

As a cut flower, it's exceptional. The flat heads float above an arrangement like white clouds, and they combine with almost anything — roses, sweet peas, peonies, dahlias, grasses. Florists charge a premium for it, which tells you something about its value. A handful of orlaya turns a competent arrangement into something that looks like it came from a magazine.

It's a hardy annual, which means you sow it in autumn where you want it to flower, and it sorts itself out over winter. The seedlings are fine and grass-like, easily mistaken for weeds, so mark where you've sown. Once established it self-seeds, and after a few years you'll have it appearing through the border in exactly the spots it looks best. The plant has better taste than most gardeners.